


The One I Long For

by littlelavenderlady



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curse AU, M/M, Slow Burn, musician tsukki, photographer yamaguchi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29852859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelavenderlady/pseuds/littlelavenderlady
Summary: Three years ago Tsukishima Kei was cursed, and every day that passes reminds him that he will never be free from it. So he spends his days playing music on the streets, making just enough money to survive, and trying not to hope that maybe someday someone will truly see him for who he is.Yamaguchi Tadashi is an up-and-coming photographer in New York City's art scene, waiting tables on the side to keep the bills paid. But a new photography project has him captivated by an elusive subject who just keeps catching his eye, and he can't help wishing he could know just a bit more about that tall blond.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, Takeda Ittetsu/Ukai Keishin, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, other pairs:
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22





	1. Day 16

Kei tugged the drawstrings of his hoodie subconsciously as he stared blankly at the wall of wilting produce. The dim fluorescent bulbs hanging from the bodega’s cracked ceiling tiles cast angular shadows of the store’s patrons across the floor. Almost everyone had a shadow: the aging cashier with the unkempt mustache meant to make up for the lack of hair on his head, the mother balancing a child on her hip while chattering excitedly into her cell phone, even the broken old mannequin wearing season’s old merchandise from the local sports team. Kei, of course, didn’t have a shadow. But that was old news.

He shuffled between the tight aisles crammed full of microwaved meals and canned goods, searching for anything appetizing. But as per usual, he simply crinkled up his nose and pulled a Cup Noodle down from the shelf, and began digging into his pocket in desperate search for the loose change that had been shoved down there a few hours prior. Pulling his hood down closer to the tops of his glasses, Kei approached the familiar cashier.

“Good evening kid, new to this part of the city?” he watched the mustache crawl like some bushy caterpillar as the tired cashier spoke, intentionally avoiding the man’s gaze. Kei quietly responded “something like that,” and said nothing more until the transaction had been completed, his small bag of cheap groceries a familiar weight under his arm. With a forcedly-causal “have a good night” thrown over his shoulder Kei pushed the door open to the sound of those familiar chimes and stepped out onto the pavement. He let himself pause for only a moment, his eyes fluttering closed as he turned his face towards the moonlight. Even amongst the smog and the noise of the city Kei could always enjoy the steady familiarity of the moon. 

And the moment passed. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and returned his headphones to his ears, careful not to let his hood fall down to his shoulders. The chime of the bodega’s door rang again and the previously quiet street was filled with the sounds of the young mother finishing up her phone call, Kei moving to step out of her way as she strode out onto the sidewalk. But he didn’t move quickly enough, and she ran squarely into his side, distracted by the baby on her hip and the phone now falling out of her grasp and clattering onto the pavement. 

Kei recoiled from the touch, a reaction decidedly unnecessary for how small the collision had been. But the jostling had knocked his hood down off his head, and in his haste to pull it back up, he had managed to clumsily knock his glasses off too.

“Oh so sorry ‘bout that! Although you really should pay more attention to your surroundings next time!” Kei heard her voice chime out as he was reaching to the ground to pick up his glasses, but she had beaten him to it. 

“Whew, I drop my phone, you drop your glasses. I guess we’re both a mess! At least I didn’t drop little Haru here, now that really would have been a disaster—” 

Kei went to grab his glasses from her outstretched hand hastily, grunting his thanks. But before he could make his escape she caught his eye, still chattering away.

Kei knew the moment she recognized him, her words dropping off abruptly. It didn’t matter how many times it had happened, his heart still sank deep into his abdomen every time he was forced to see the confusion flash behind the eyes of those who recognized him. It had been a good day today, he hadn’t been recognized even once. Not until now, at least.

“E- Eijirou?” she stuttered out, the confusion in her tone laced with a complicated mix of grief and hope. “I- I don’t understand. Is it really you?” 

The young mother stood still, not even noticing the hands of her son pulling on her shirt or the tinny voice still coming out of her cell phone speaker. She quivered almost imperceptibly, still staring at Kei as though looking at a ghost.

Kei sighed internally, because in her mind he knew that she truly did see a ghost. 

He settled his glasses back on his face gently, and took a tentative step backwards. It was always difficult to find the best way to extricate himself from these situations, and he knew that now would be no different. He raised his hands slowly in front of him, almost placatingly, but his movement had shocked the woman out of her stupor, her hand not focused on holding her son shooting out to grab Kei’s wrist.

“How are you alive? How is this happening? Oh my god Eiji I thought I would never see you again. They told me I would never see you again—” 

Her voice continued to rise in volume, and Kei saw her shocked tears beginning to fall as she clung tighter and tighter onto his wrist. The woman’s words began to blend together in his mind, and he tried not to focus on them. The script wasn’t too different from that which he typically heard, but that didn’t mean that Kei was ignorant to the pain in the young mother’s words, or in the force of her grasp. 

Her cries continued and Kei said nothing in return, because there was nothing he could say. He used his left hand to pry the woman’s grip away from his right wrist, trying to be as gentle as possible despite her desperation. A particularly strong sob racked her body, and Kei took his chance to break from her grasp, grabbing his bag of groceries that he had dropped to the ground sometime in the confusion of the last minute. 

He turned on his heel without a second glance, and sprinted away from the woman crying out for her dead husband whom she had just knocked into outside of a New York City bodega.

He clutched his groceries in one hand and made sure the strap across his chest was secure with the other, running through streets and turning corners blindly, his viola thumping painfully against his back. Breathing heavily, Kei finally let his long strides begin to slow as he realized that the young woman hadn’t followed him, and that the clock had likely reset. 

He took a moment to get his bearings, resituating his glasses and the surgical mask he wore over his face, both of which had slipped during his sprint. Checking again that his headphones were in place and his hood was pulled low over his forehead, Kei allowed himself a second to think of the woman. 

Kei had never been religious, and would’ve labeled himself an atheist if he cared about such things. That being said, he couldn’t help being superstitious given his personal situation, so after every recognition he made sure to take a moment to respect the pain, loss, and hope that his presence had caused. He thought of the young mother, of her son Haru, and of her husband Eijirou, whom she had lost too soon. 

His breathing collected and his prayer completed, Kei opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders. It was just another day.

He checked the nearby street signs and soon recognized his surroundings, slowly heading back in the direction of the bodega and the hotel a few streets past it. It would’ve been more logical to run towards the hotel rather than in the complete opposite direction, and Kei scolded himself for the brief lapse in judgement.

After a few minutes of brisk walking Kei was back to the street that housed the bodega, and he was relieved to see it was empty of young mothers and crying babies. He kept walking.

His long strides took him to the top of the street, the neon lights of the barber shop on the corner flickering as always. Just like every night in the past, and just like every night in his future. He turned right, just like every night. Only a few more paces through the quiet backstreets of New York City, he rounded another corner, just like every night. Reaching his destination, Kei checked that no one was watching before slipping in through the service door to the old hotel. Just like every night. 

Kei slipped through the back hall and up the cement staircase like he had done it a hundred times. A few hundred times was probably a more appropriate estimate, but Kei knew better than to keep count. Reaching the second floor, Kei watched with disinterest as his feet walked their often-trodden path to room 2C, slipping the worn key from his pocket into the padlock. The “Closed for Repairs” sign hanging from the door handle swung back and forth slightly as Kei nudged his door open, and he steadied the sign mindlessly, closing the door quietly behind him. Tossing the grocery bag onto the small side table, Kei let out a small sigh as he pushed his glasses back up.

The good news about being cursed to always be forgotten? No one noticed when he didn’t check out promptly by noon, and certainly no one noticed that the forgotten locked room with the leaky faucet sometimes had a sliver of light peeking out from beneath the door.

Pushing his shoes off without untying his laces and shrugging the viola case off his shoulder, Kei all but fell into his bed, bouncing slightly as the old springs protested. He let out a gentle groan full of pent up exhaustion and relief to finally be alone, and then slowly sat up again before he let himself get too comfortable. Kei padded to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror, poking at the dark circles under his eyes and tugging absentmindedly at his split ends while looking into his own eyes. As the days progressed they only seemed to grow flatter, the once vibrant amber looking more like a dull yellow under the cheap motel lighting. But of course, Kei knew that it wasn’t just the lighting that lead to the pallor of his complexion and the disinterest in his gaze, but rather that as time progressed and his condition never changed he himself was slowly dying from the inside out.

Leaving the bathroom after splashing cool water on his face, Kei turned on the old TV absentmindedly, waiting for the microwave heating up his dinner to chime. His instant ramen ready and some nature documentary re-run playing quietly on the TV, Kei let himself sit back onto the small bed. He ate his dinner quickly and quietly, only sparing a few moments to brush his teeth, strip off the day’s clothes, and turn off the lights before he let sleep overtake him.

The nights passed this way, blurring together with a tired monotony. Go to the store, get dinner in the cheapest form possible, slink back into the hotel, and try not to reflect on all the time he had wasted in this ghostly form.

It was more complicated than simply Kei being stuck in a loop of irrelevance, in which every person he had ever met or would ever meet were incapable of remembering his existence within minutes of their separation, like the cashier at the bodega who had said the same words to him every evening for a year. No, his condition was much, much worse. This detachment was only a side-effect of his curse. 

For a few years now, Kei had no longer been his own being, and despite the lack of any physical transformations, the way he was perceived was markedly unusual. When anyone fully looked at Kei, instead of seeing a rather ordinary-looking tall young man, this person would see the one whom they most longed for. Living or dead, parent, lover, child, or anything in between, it didn’t matter. All it took was a look, a long moment of recognition and oftentimes eye contact, and suddenly an innocent passerby was shrieking in agony after seeing the ghost of their dead husband walking the streets of New York City, very much alive and well. It only took distance, and in some cases, time, for this person to forget all about Kei, and the spectre that he had become to them. In this way, it was only Kei who was truly cursed, as he was the one to experience the pain in the people who witnessed his true form, and even though they were blessed to forget, he received no such luxury. 

And so he hid, finding that crowds could be the easiest way to ensure anonymity. A painful trek to New York City after his curse first reared its ugly head was the first time he had been able to walk the streets in the daytime and venture a glance up from his feet on occasion to take in the world around him. He shrouded himself in copious layers of clothing and only traversed the busiest areas, learning the best ways to angle his glasses, or to adjust his surgical mask to prevent all recognition. More than just his outward appearance, Kei learned the behaviors he needed to avoid being noticed, keeping his head down and his mouth shut. If he was unassuming he could fade into the background, and no one would ever need to know he existed at all.

But nevertheless Kei had to extricate himself from the arms of weeping fathers and the stare of haunted young women on a nearly daily basis. He had found that some had particularly acute memories, and that these persons who were possessed by their longing could see through his hoodies and downcast gaze seemingly no matter how hard he tried to conceal himself, so Kei had found that his only choice was to do what he could, and to leave as quickly as possible when he had been recognized. This way he could lessen the duration of their painful hoping, because even though he knew that every single one of these people would forget him in a matter of minutes, he couldn’t bear to hear their cries. 

It had been like this, and it would continue to be like this. So Kei did what he had done for his whole life, and he made do. Even before his curse he had found himself content to just exist, and he now recognized the painful irony in how his curse barely even allowed him to do that anymore.

Does it still count as existence if no one on earth knows who you are?


	2. Day 16, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so embarrassed that I spent the entirety of my Friday evening working on this chapter, but I guess anything goes in a pandemic! Enjoy :)

“Finally decided to join us on our smoke break kid?” Ukai said with a chuckle, the same smirk he gave Tadashi any time the brunet found himself out on the balcony at the same time as Ukai and Suga’s habitual end-of-shift smoke.

“C’mon chef, you’ve got to stop tempting me! You know I quit.” Tadashi returned, the comfortable banter making his lips quirk up into a smile despite his exhaustion. Tadashi had been called in on his day off just to spend the whole shift nearly sprinting through the understaffed restaurant as he waited on one too many tables of overly cheerful customers, and his eagerness to get home and enjoy a long hot shower was undeniable. 

Despite his words, Tadashi accepted a drag of the cigarette that was offered to him, returning it promptly to Suga as he shrugged his backpack off of his shoulders. The two cooks continued to smoke and watch Tadashi with mild interest as he began setting up his tripod, adjusting his camera settings to best capture the bright billboard lights illuminating the square as though it was an afternoon on a fluorescently-sunny day, and not nearing midnight.

Tadashi angled his camera with practiced ease, and relaxed his breathing as he waited for the perfect shot. Even though he had never asked them to, Tadashi always found it endearing how his coworkers would stall in their conversation while watching him with his camera, almost out of respect. Ukai could be snarky, and Suga could be talkative, but they both seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement that Tadashi’s photography deserved a moment of calm.

This moment of calm was held only between the three individuals standing up on the balcony, as the noise of Times Square on a cool Friday would pause for no one, not even Yamaguchi Tadashi. 

Without letting himself overthink his work as he was often want to do, Tadashi took the shot with as much confidence as he could muster, and after quickly checking that he hadn’t made some horrible mistake with the exposures, he began to repack his equipment as smoothly as he had unpacked it. Tadashi had started this project out of his own interest two weeks ago, but he still found it nerve-wracking to commit himself to only a single shot. 

Tadashi’s success throughout his college photography program had been through his commitment and persistent practice, in which he had continued to work painstakingly to perfect his craft long after his classmates had finished their portfolios and submitted their assignments. His motivation had led to him graduating at the top of his class the previous year, but he had quickly learned the harsh reality of securing consistent work as a young photographer in a city full of aspiring artists. 

In an attempt to broaden his abilities and perhaps catch the eye of galleries or clients who could turn his photography into a secure career Tadashi had been working for months on independent projects that pushed him out of his comfort zone, the present project only the most recent of his endeavors.

“Hey Yamaguchi, how’s that roommate of yours doing? Maybe sometime he could come back to the restaurant or something, I don’t know—” Suga’s voice brought Tadashi back to the present moment, and he turned as he zipped his backpack closed, grinning a bit at the gentle blush on Suga’s cheeks.

“Oh, Kinoshita? I didn’t know you had met him! Sure I’ll have him swing by sometime, maybe if you like him so much you can give him some fries on the house.” Tadashi responded with a slight smirk, chuckling as the blush on Suga’s face darkened.

Ukai broke out into a hearty laugh as Suga tripped over his words, stammering something about the “wrong roommate.”

Tadashi laughed, a real laugh for the first time in a few hours, not his customer service laughs performed to ensure that the tables full of rowdy patrons didn’t forget to leave a tip before they moved their jovial party to the bars. He slung his backpack back over his shoulder, tugging down his black waitstaff uniform shirt and readjusting his collar.

“Sorry Suga, it’s just too easy to mess with you sometimes. And God knows you give me enough shit, I think it’s karma!” 

Tadashi grinned as he took another drag from Suga’s proffered cigarette, tapping off the ashes over the side of the balcony mindlessly. When Tadashi had first started this serving job the prior year he had been much less bold around his coworkers, especially those who could technically be considered his superiors, but Ukai had worked quickly to break his skittish streak. Tadashi still tripped over his own feet daily and apologized excessively for even the smallest mishap, but his relationship with his coworkers had developed into a comfortable one, even in many cases a friendship. 

Suga sighed as he put out his cigarette, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down restlessly. “The one who walked with you to work the other day. You know who I meant!”

Tadashi did know. He and his roommate Daichi both worked in the heart of downtown, and on the rare days that their shifts lined up Daichi would insist on walking Tadashi from the subway station to the front door of the Hard Rock Café, despite the restaurant being only a two minute walk away. Daichi was only a year older than Tadashi and Kinoshita, but he took his “big brother” role seriously, and Tadashi was sure that the copious amounts of dad jokes made at his expense didn’t bother Daichi in the slightest, even if he would never admit it.

“Okay, okay. I’ll see if he wants to come by sometime on his lunch break. But I’m not playing matchmaker for you two!” Tadashi relented, his grin revealing how much he truly was enjoying playing matchmaker. 

Tadashi and Suga’s shifts had started at the same time on the prior Tuesday, and Suga had found himself walking up to work at the same moment as his unassuming coworker. But this day Tadashi hadn’t been humming along to himself as he typically did, instead he had been accompanied by an “absolute dreamboat of a man,” in Suga’s own words.

Tadashi had called out a greeting, and Suga had all but tripped over himself in his haste to introduce himself to Tadashi’s roommate, accidentally ignoring the freckled brunet in the process. Daichi had smiled, returned Suga’s brief introductions, and was turned around and off to his own job before Suga could articulate some flirtatious response, leaving Tadashi snickering at the older man’s complete loss of composure.

The lunch rush had picked up before Tadashi could properly ridicule Suga’s painfully obvious new crush, and since then Tadashi had completely forgotten about Suga’s infatuation until he brought up Daichi that night out on the balcony. While it was entertaining to stoke Suga’s deepening blush, and Ukai certainly wasn’t holding back, Tadashi couldn’t help the warm and fuzzy feeling he felt in his stomach when he considered a relationship forming between his roommate and his coworker, two people who both had important roles in his life.

At the end of the day, Tadashi was undeniably a hopeless romantic, and he made a mental note not to forget to invite Daichi over to the Café sometime when business was slow.

Their cigarettes finished and Tadashi’s daily photograph taken, the three men walked back into the restaurant, cutting through the dim and empty dining floor to the kitchen and back room. The balcony was a selling point of the Times Square Hard Rock Café, and was an area that absolutely should not be fair game for smoke breaks (or photography projects, for that matter), but with the head chef himself being the one to initiate the balcony smoke breaks it had become an unspoken rule that as long as Ukai was there or patrons weren’t being inconvenienced then there was nothing to worry about.

Tadashi was grateful for this bending of the rules, as without it he would never have access to such a stunning view of Times Square, and he never would have had the idea for his newest project. This project, finally, was the one he hoped would secure him full time work and could help him quit his day job for good.

Tadashi had been waiting tables throughout high school and college to pay for his tuition, so it was natural for him to continue this work as he tried to get his photography career off the ground. Living in New York City he had plenty of options, but he was grateful that a classmate he had graduated with had been happy to refer him to his own restaurant’s manager, and Tadashi quickly secured a nearly full-time serving job with the recommendation and his extensive experience. 

“Ka-ge-ya-ma!” 

_Speak of the devil_ , Tadashi thought. The sound of pans clattering and Hinata’s sing-song tone made Tadashi and Suga cringe in unison, and Ukai only grunted, all too used to the antics of the sous chef and bus boy. Head Chef Ukai pushed the kitchen doors open briskly, staring down at Hinata and Kageyama in a pile of struggling limbs on the floor.

Kageyama pushed himself back up to standing, making sure to yank Hinata’s head down by his hair once more for good measure. “Hinata was running in the kitchen, dropped all the clean pots, and knocked into me, chef.” Kageyama glared, waiting for Hinata to pick up the cookware scattered across the cement floor.

Ukai only sighed, telling the two to finish up their work and to stop bickering so much. The second request was an optimistic add-on, and Tadashi snickered as he watched the two continue to shove one another back and forth. Kageyama’s position of authority in the kitchen ensured that he didn’t need to hang around to make sure everything was all cleaned up by the end of the night, but the sous chef was inevitably around whenever Hinata was working, and he kept the bus boy company despite the mess that tended to ensue.

Despite all his muttering about how this was all the idiot’s fault, Kageyama helped Hinata return the pans to the sink, drying them absentmindedly as soon as Hinata handed him the newly-cleaned cookware.

“You two are sickeningly domestic.” Suga teased, walking over to the coatrack to grab his jacket in preparation for the walk home. Kageyama grunted with embarrassment and turned his death glare towards the frying pan he was drying, and all Hinata could do was blush, squeaking out something that sounded like “what do you mean?!”

Tadashi smiled to himself, thinking about the odd pair. They had been together since the beginning of high school, and sometimes Tadashi forgot that all three of them were the same age, only 23 years old, and that Kageyama and Hinata weren’t actually an old married couple. 

“Kageyama since you ran into me and made me drop everything I had just washed, will you buy me a popsicle at the corner store on our way home?” 

Right, Tadashi thought with a laugh, they may be a couple but they certainly weren’t old. He tuned out Kageyama’s snapped retort as he grabbed his own jacket, throwing his goodbyes over his shoulder as he followed Suga out into the cool night air, suddenly reminded of the exhaustion his long day had instilled in him.

His feet made their way to the nearest subway stop with practiced ease. Tadashi tutted to himself in annoyance as he struggled to untangle the wires of his headphones, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. Realizing he had paused in the middle of the sidewalk on one of the busiest streets in New York City, Tadashi was immediately grateful that he hadn’t been knocked over by some family on vacation or bachelorette party on their way to the bar.

Moving off to the side of the street, Tadashi took a moment to enjoy the cool night air, his hands stilling in their battle with the uncooperative Apple headphones. He looked up, past the billboards, past the tops of the highest buildings, and smiled up at the full moon serenely.

The honk of a nearby car startled Tadashi, letting out an embarrassing squeak as he flinched. Finally plugging in his headphones and starting up his podcast, Tadashi descended the stairs to the subway station. 

He sat and listened to the news as he rode the train, relieved to be undisturbed. At this time on a Friday night most of the traffic was headed towards downtown, not away from it. 

Getting off at his stop, Tadashi’s sneakers squeaked across the dirty linoleum floor as he subconsciously sped up, eager to finally get home. 

He reached the front door to his building, taking the old elevator up to the twelfth floor. Slipping his key into the lock, Tadashi swung his door open and let out a relieved sigh, kicking off his shoes and hanging his jacket up on the overloaded hook next to the door.

“I’m home!” He called out gently to the dim apartment, more out of habit than out of courtesy. Daichi’s door was shut, but even that couldn’t keep the sound of his snores from permeating the apartment. The door leading to the room that Tadashi shared with Kinoshita was open, but Tadashi knew that Kinoshita was likely out with friends, and would probably stagger home drunkenly in a few hours, inevitably waking Tadashi up in the process.

Turning on the lights, Tadashi padded quietly into the small kitchen. Pouring himself a glass of water and starting up his laptop, Tadashi sat down at the kitchen table to finish his last task of the night.

Taking the SD card out of his camera and inserting it into his computer, Tadashi let himself get briefly sidetracked by checking the notifications on his blog that had piled up while at work. He smiled, wide and unabashed, as he skimmed all the comments being left on his newest photos. Maybe this project really would be the one to jumpstart his career, if the mounting traffic to his previously sleepy photography blog was any indicator.

Reminding himself that his photography career was precisely the reason that he was sitting at the table with his laptop open and not enjoying much-needed sleep, Tadashi returned to the contents of his SD card. 

He glanced briefly at the morning’s batch of senior pictures, and resolved to work on editing and uploading them tomorrow. While some of his more pretentious former classmates may have considered it undignified work, Tadashi was grateful for the extra income and practice that came with taking senior pictures, and he genuinely didn’t mind the job. The high school seniors that he often photographed weren’t too much younger than him, so there was always some common ground he could find to make the job a little less boring or awkward.

Scrolling to the bottom of the folder, Tadashi opened his most recent picture in Photoshop. He glanced at the clock, and reminded himself of his 15 minute rule—that for these photos he wouldn’t let himself spend more than 15 minutes total on edits. Just like how Tadashi had restricted himself to taking only one picture of the Times Square scene, he forced himself not to over-edit his photos, trying to teach himself to trust his creative instincts and allow the natural charm of the images to persist throughout any minor touch-ups. 

Nodding to himself, satisfied, Tadashi moved on to the final step: naming day 16’s photo. He zoomed in closely, and took his time studying every aspect of the image. He considered the lines of taxis crowding the busy streets, their headlights illuminating the fliers and playbills littering the nearby sidewalks. He moved on to the pedestrians, often preferring to focus on the individual characters rather than the familiar inanimate objects of taxis and billboards. 

His gaze settled on two young women, and he smiled at the couple. A short blonde was trotting quickly across a crosswalk, talking animatedly and gesturing with one hand. The hand not making a sweeping gesture was held firmly by the woman trailing behind, a tall and composed woman with long black hair. She wasn’t as openly enthusiastic as the small blonde, but the gentle smile on her face and her gaze resting squarely on the woman in front of her belied the depth of her affection. Yes, these two were definitely the ones he wanted to name the picture after.

Thinking for a moment, Tadashi zoomed out and saved the file, reopening the tab that housed his blog. Drafting a new post, he uploaded the image and began to type. 

_Day 16_  
_Twin Stars: As Bright as the Sun and as Dark as the Night_  
_Yamaguchi Tadashi—A Microcosm in 365 Days_

Making sure to tag this post and give it a home with the prior 15, Tadashi gave it another once-over and finally clicked ‘post.’ He flexed his fingers and rolled his neck, sitting back in his chair with a sigh.

Tadashi finished his neglected glass of water, and after depositing the cup in the sink he made his way down the hall to the bathroom, turning on the light and closing the door behind him. Turning on the water to brush his teeth, he idly considered the leaky faucet. One of these days he really would need to call for maintenance, but that certainly wouldn’t be today.

Tonight, Tadashi was going to take a long shower, crawl into bed, and cross his fingers for sweet dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I named them twin stars because of how Yachi always wears the two star clips in her hair, and yes I think it's the cutest thing on earth!
> 
> If you google "hard rock cafe times square" you can get a better feel for the setting! The balcony I talk about in this chapter is technically called a marquee but I hate that so uh it's a balcony to me. It's this huge balcony that extends out into Times Square, and if you're standing on it and looking out the view is incredible. This exact restaurant is why I needed the story to be set in NYC, and not someplace more canon compliant like Tokyo. I've been thinking about Tsukki's background in this story, and I've been plagued with the horrifying truth that is Midwesterner Tsukki. Sorry Kei, but I'm making you be from Ohio, and I won't be stopped.


	3. Day 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which my tsukiyama fic actually starts having tsukiyama in it lol

The monotonous, feminine voice of the subway’s PA system crackled through the speakers, announcing the upcoming stop. Checking his watch with disinterest, Kei shifted his feet and turned his body toward the opening doors.

He had gotten a relatively early start this morning after a restless night of fitful sleep, so the subway was quieter than what he was used to. In between the morning commuter rush and the lunch rush, Kei searched for a space to work for the rest of the day.

Settling on a corner with slightly fewer cigarette butts or mysterious stains, Kei shrugged his viola case off his shoulder and opened it up. He removed the instrument gently, setting the case back down on the ground, open and inviting. Lastly, Kei took his headphones off and returned them to their place around his neck, taking a deep breath to clear his mind.

A few gentle notes rang out through the sparsely-populated subway stop, as Kei warmed up his hands and tuned the instrument. Content with the state of his viola, he launched smoothly into the first song that came to mind, a serene classical piece that he had learned many years prior.

Kei had been surrounded by music since before he could remember. After demonstrating an interest in the piano as a child, his parents had quickly noticed how easy it was for Kei to pick up on melodies and recreate them. Not long after he first started emulating the musical sounds he heard around the house, Kei was experimenting with combinations of notes all on his own. 

His parents both worked in business, but the two shared a love for music that translated to their youngest son. While his big brother had only ever been interested in athletics, Kei had often preferred to have his own space and the solitude that music had given him.

His first piece of the day coming to a close, Kei cracked open his eyes, not remembering just when they had fallen shut. He noted with a slight frown that his viola case lying open was still very much empty. Without intending to, Kei had chosen a pretty underused subway stop, and he could only hope that come lunchtime he would have a bit more luck.

Despite most of his days spent working as a street performer, Kei had few locations that he frequented. He told himself that he moved around so often due to an interest in always exploring more of the city, but that reasoning had turned from sincerity into an excuse a long time ago. The real truth of the matter was that committing to one or two standard “spots” would mean that he had resigned himself to his fate, and that he recognized that this street performance lifestyle that he had never chosen for himself would be how he spent the rest of his days.

So instead Kei bounced around from place to place. He had performed in dozens of different subway stations, and on street corners all throughout the city. He had played the classics in parks in the Upper East Side, renditions of pop music on college campuses, and original pieces in every tourist trap under the sun. The forced consistency of so much in his life made Kei adamant about maintaining control over one of the few things he could vary, and that was how and where he played his music.

Kei took a sip from his water bottle, and returned his bow to the strings. Readjusting his posture, Kei began to play his next song, an old indie pop song he remembered from his youth. 

Not sure why this particular song came to mind, Kei still smiled a bit at the memory, almost feeling like he could hear the bass thrum through the closed door of his brother’s room. It was more of a brief recollection than a true memory, and he didn’t remember feeling anything other than annoyance at the loud noise while he was trying to play a video game, but nostalgia made him smile nonetheless.

This was something of a rare feeling, as fond nostalgia often wasn’t the first thing Kei felt when he thought of Akiteru.

While Kei had been considered something of a musical prodigy throughout his life, it would be incorrect to assert that music had been his one and only interest as a child. In reality, there was a time where he too had been interested in sports, mainly volleyball, and it was all due to his love and idolization of Akiteru.

His older brother of six years, Akiteru had been Kei’s role model. Anything that Akiteru did, Kei wanted to do, and it was only as they both began to age and their parent’s marriage began to crumble that an irreparable divide started to form. 

It started with volleyball. Kei had always trusted Akiteru in the unconditional way that a child trusts their idol, and that trust had been shattered in an instant. Akiteru had never lied to him before, but this lie had been big enough to create a wound in Kei so intense that the thought of pursuing volleyball for himself always felt too painful. That was the real turning point, the moment in which Kei accepted his natural talent for the arts, and embraced it entirely.

Through music, Kei had been granted freedom. Throughout his teen years he met many others who were passionate about music, but their enthusiasm had a tendency to rub Kei the wrong way.

He loved music, he loved the beauty that he could create, but he had never felt such intense enthusiasm about anything. For Kei, music was a way to escape the world he lived within, whereas for others music was a tool to attain fame or success. It had never been about popularity or acclaim for Kei, even though he had been pressured by many throughout his life to seek recognition for his talents. No, in composing and performing Kei sought a type of ascension that wasn’t tied to earthly hierarchies or monetary gain. 

This ascension was a much more spiritually-charged one, and it felt almost palpable to Kei. 

This day in the subway was no different, and the hours passed seamlessly, in which he only paused to gulp down water or take stock of the spare change being thrown his way. When he was in this state there was little that could shake him out of it, and it was this full-body escapism that Kei craved day after day.

It seemed likely that this out-of-body experience that his viola’s melodies provided him weren’t just in his head. Over the years, Kei had come to the realization that music was one of the few things powerful enough to control the effects of his curse.

When he thrust himself wholeheartedly into song, and gave himself over body and mind to the will of his instrument, there were few people on earth who could pull him out of it. Passerby’s might acknowledge him and his music, but Kei could count on one hand the amount of times he had experienced one of those horrible, cursed experiences of recognition while deep in the throes of performing.

Like when he used clothing, his glasses, and a mask as a barrier, music provided a barrier between Kei and the influence of his curse. When he played, he was just another gifted street performer who garnered the attention of a passing businesswoman or college student for only a moment before they continued on their way. Only those with extremely acute feelings of longing could permeate this barrier, which fortunately didn’t happen often.

In this way, music felt to Kei like the closest he could ever be to invincibility.

Oftentimes he would end hours of playing and realize that his mask had slipped down off his face, or that his hood had fallen back. Despite this physical exposure, Kei knew that his music had protected him from unwanted recognition. Today was no different, and Kei idly noticed his vulnerabilities as he felt the wind from a passing train whistle through his exposed hair and over his chapped lips. 

He would have to remember to get himself back in order soon, Kei thought as he reached the end of a song, but this acknowledgement was pushed back down into his subconscious as he heard a horribly distracting noise. Kei stiffened at the aggravating sound of overenthusiastic clapping. He had never much enjoyed the attention that some passerby’s would provide him, but he still tried to appreciate the intentions behind some polite applause.

This however, was not the polite applause Kei was used to. Instead, he heard only two hands smacking together with way too much zeal, and way too close to his ears for comfort.

Kei opened his eyes and lowered his gaze, a grimace already manifesting on his face. He flinched backwards and pressed his lips together firmly before an undignified squeak could escape his mouth. Barely a foot away from his own, two huge eyes stared back at Kei owlishly.

Another clap thundered through the air, the breeze strong enough that Kei felt it on the back of his hand. His bow stuttered across the strings, and he lowered it quickly, annoyance bubbling up.

“Excuse me?” Kei said coldly, his personal space thoroughly invaded by this strange individual, all silvery hair spiked up dramatically and eyebrows arched almost comically. 

“Man that was just the coolest! What instrument are you playing? It sounds like a violin, but I don’t really know much about instruments. I’m more of a drawing and painting type of guy myself, working with my hands and all!”

The man continued his chatter, and Kei was so startled by his enthusiasm that all he could do was stand there, bow by his side and viola still tucked loosely under his chin. An outsider looking in would have seen quite an interesting scene, the two tall young men so clearly at odds in terms of personality, all on clear display by their body image. If he wasn’t so startled, Kei would have laughed.

Another train rushed through the stop, the noise still not loud enough to drown out the man’s booming voice. Kei felt the gust of stale air whip through his hair, a prickling sensation crawling across his scalp.

Kei had flinched before as a physical reaction to the man’s claps hitting his eardrums, but the way his body recoiled at this moment was borderline severe.

Kei stepped back with a jerk, the silver-haired man’s eyes still on Kei’s. 

_He had been staring. He had been staring, and my hood isn’t up, and my mask is barely even on my chin. He has been staring this whole time and I’m not playing anymore, there’s nothing to protect me._

Kei fumbled, his right hand trying to pull the surgical mask back over his nose while nearly stabbing himself in the eye with his bow in the process. His left hand twitched as though to reach for his hood, but the feeling of his viola slipping from his grasp stopped Kei before he dropped the instrument on the cement floor and caused an even bigger disaster.

Kei’s feet stuttered backwards on the hard floor, the scuffing sound painfully loud. The silver-haired man’s head tipped down towards the ground in the direction of Kei’s feet, and his grin fell immediately.

“Oh. I’m bothering you aren’t I? I’m sorry. I always get too close to people, sometimes when I get excited I don’t realize it, since I’m not listening as closely to my surroundings. That’s what Akaashi always says at least.” The man said with a pout, one that Kei would’ve called childish if he weren’t still panicking over his current state of vulnerability.

“I’ll leave you to your music. I hope you don’t mind that I sit over here, it’s my usual spot and it’s tricky for me to get used to a new space.” With that statement the tall man turned and walked only a few steps away, where Kei noticed for the first time a large blanket spread out across the dirty subway floor.

The blanket was covered in paintings, the subject matter Kei couldn’t quite make out with his anxiety-addled brain. As the silver-haired man settled comfortably into a seated position surrounded by the artwork, Kei’s eyes flicked to the small cardboard sign at the very front of the impromptu art gallery, the words taking a few moments too long after he read them to process.

“I AM BLIND, BUT I LOVE TO PAINT, AND I HOPE YOU LOVE MY PAINTINGS TOO!”

_Blind._

Of course, it all made sense now. Thinking back, Kei realized that the man’s gaze had felt piercing due to the intensity of his expression and the vibrant color of his eyes, but his pupils themselves had been a bit unfocused. _That_ was what he had meant about having a “bad habit for getting too close to people,” because without being able to see expressions of discomfort the man may have had a tendency to get in others’ personal space, and why he tried identifying Kei’s viola by sound alone.

Shock written clearly across his face, Kei realized why this man had been able to look him right in the face for so long, without recognizing the visage of a loved one instead, as everyone else had for the last three years. 

Kei stared at the strange man now, sitting glumly on the subway stop’s floor, apparently still dejected by Kei’s lack of interest in having a conversation. He was picking at his nails absentmindedly, his gaze resting on nothing in particular, because he was _blind._

Kei couldn’t help the way his lips quirked up into a smile, the panic from moments before translating into an anxious sort of glee. Never in the three years of his curse had Kei experienced an encounter like this, and he almost laughed at his own stupidity for never seeking out someone who was blind. 

For someone with a curse dependent on eye contact, a blind man felt like a gift from God to Kei.

Kei moved quickly to his instrument case, tucking away the money he had made that day and returning his viola to its home, all interest in continuing to perform gone. He straightened up, swinging the instrument back over his shoulder, finally taking the time to check his attire.

Glasses: check. Sweatshirt hood: check. Mask: check. Conscious of the beginnings of rush hour and the increasing number of people flowing through the subway stop, Kei ignored the potential for making more money and instead turned to approach the blind man.

Head raising at the sound of his approach, the man plastered on a smile with practiced ease, ready to greet a potential customer. Despite the obvious shift in the man’s mood from his former sadness, Kei noticed that it didn’t feel disingenuous. The brash, spikey-haired man was just that hot-and-cold, it seemed.

“So you painted all these yourself, even though you can’t see.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Kei realized these were the first words he had spoken to the man throughout the entirety of their encounter.

“Sure did! I first got into painting in high school, but there was an accident and I lost my vision. But I didn’t let that stop me! I’ll become a household name one of these days!” The man beamed, fully sincere in his optimism. Kei smirked and readied a comment about how silly it was to have such lofty goals, but bit his tongue. Just because he didn’t see a future for himself didn’t mean he always had to impose that nihilism on others, especially when this person had just filled him with such hope for his own condition.

“You said this was your usual spot, are you here most days?” Kei asked, and the man’s face scrunched up in confusion, for a moment not understanding how Kei knew this was his “usual spot.”

“Oh you must be the music guy! Yeah I come here most days to try and sell my art. I haven’t seen you around before though. Although I guess I don’t see anyone around!” Barking out his laughter, the man leaned over clutching his stomach in near hysterics. Kei assumed, correctly, that the man made this joke frequently, and every time he found it funnier than anyone else did. “The name’s Bokuto by the way, what’s yours?”

“Tsukishima.” He answered before he could think about it, instantly berating himself. Bokuto couldn’t see him, but Kei had to assume that he would still be forgotten as soon as he walked away. Even if the worst of his curse could be avoided through Bokuto’s blindness, it wasn’t a good idea to get attached to someone who would forget him within the hour.

“Tsukishima, huh? That’s kind of long, I gotta think of a nickname for you since we’re gonna be subway friends now.” Bokuto stated it so plainly, and Kei felt a pang in his chest. It had been so long since someone had wanted to be his friend.

“Ok.” It was all he could think of to respond, even though he really _really_ didn’t like nicknames.

Kei had to admit that watching Bokuto’s face scrunch up in deep thought over the simple prospect of giving Kei a nickname was endearing. In the moment of comfortable silence between the two men, Kei realized how many commuters were beginning to pass through the subway stop, and felt a twinge of guilt as he realized he was monopolizing Bokuto’s time right in the middle of rush hour.

“I need to go. Good luck with sales I guess.” Kei gestured broadly at the paintings, flushing slightly with embarrassment when he realized Bokuto couldn’t see his motion. He began to turn and head towards the platform, smiling against his better judgement as he heard Bokuto’s chipper “See ya later music man!”

Kei tried and failed to reign in the warmth that spread throughout his body as he thought about the horribly irritating man who may have just become his first friend in three years.

**

Kei was home earlier than usual after getting distracted by Bokuto, and his thoughts still raced from the events of the day. Settling onto the creaky bed of his small hotel room, Kei cracked open his laptop.

The motor whirred to life, the old laptop straining just to turn on. The finances of a man with no familial support, no ability to access a bank account, and no ability to hold down a salaried job were questionable at best, and Kei whispered out a prayer to whatever deity may be listening that his computer didn’t die anytime soon.

Kei opened up a browser window, his hands stilling over the keyboard, thinking. He typed into the search bar “Bokuto artist.” And waited for the results to pop up.

Getting nowhere, he revised his search, entering “Bokuto blind painter New York City.” Still nothing. Kei felt for the silver-haired man, even in their brief encounter Bokuto’s passion and drive for fame had been on clear display.

Kei felt his fingers begin to move over the keyboard of their own accord, and he resigned himself to his fate. He typically tried not to let himself fall down this hole too often, but after his random flash of memory earlier in the day, he couldn’t stop thinking of his brother.

He scrolled through Akiteru’s Facebook page carefully, reading every new post since he had last checked. Kei read every comment, and looked at every picture with care. It hurt him more than he could ever put into words to do this, but it was a habit Kei just couldn’t break.

Ever since that day where he saw Akiteru in the bleachers their relationship had been strained at best and hostile at worst. Akiteru had tried to remedy the situation and apologized to Kei profusely, but the trust had already been lost, and Kei had never been known for his forgiving nature.

Time passed and the two had stayed distant, the gap in their ages seemingly more and more salient as they both matured. Kei threw himself into his music, and Akiteru focused on his grades and getting into college. Their connection fractured further when the fights between their parents escalated to newfound heights, and divorce seemed imminent. Just when the relationship between Kei’s parents was reaching an explosive tipping point, Akiteru moved out and began college in New York City.

Akiteru had tried to talk to Kei numerous times, explaining to him that the last thing he wanted to do was let him feel abandoned. But Kei had always pushed Akiteru away regardless, and the betrayal he felt when his big brother left him in a broken home was acute.

Life went on like that. His parents fought viciously, and all Kei would do was put on his headphones and try to drown out the noise of their shouts. Eventually the two officially separated, and it seemed like life could get a bit better without all the constant fighting. 

But Kei still struggled, and he felt like he had no one to depend on. He wasn’t popular in school, in fact he was the exact opposite. Girls would tell him that he was handsome, and all he would do was reject them coldly. His classmates whispered about how he should just try to be more approachable, but no one was worth the time to Kei. Everyone important in his life had hurt him, and he had decided that he was better off alone.

He withdrew completely into himself, letting no one in to help. He ignored his parents and their attempts to connect with him, and when Akiteru came home to visit their interactions were brief and superficial. 

College provided a welcome escape from his parents, and Kei was eager to leave the house and finally be fully independent. He got into a noteworthy conservatory and accepted the admission without hesitation.

His new college was only a state away, but it was far enough. He had a dorm room to himself, and no one from his high school was attending the same university. Kei felt content that he was free from all the overbearing people in his life, namely his family members.

But that feeling of contentedness was a complete misinterpretation of his true emotions, and Kei struggled throughout college. He struggled alone, refusing to reach out to anyone for help, even when Akiteru expressed his concern.

Maybe he could have avoided this curse entirely if he had just accepted his brother’s offers to talk, or if he had answered his mother’s queries of “are you doing alright?” honestly. Kei knew that if things had been different and he had just let others in, that he wouldn’t be where he was now.

For so many years before his curse he had people in his life who cared about him, and he pushed them away. Now, it didn’t matter how much Kei wanted to call Akiteru. His big brother didn’t even know who he was. 

The pain of this knowledge burned within Kei’s abdomen as he continued his scrolling through Akiteru’s Facebook page, eyes landing on a recent post from Akiteru’s birthday. He read through a brief comment chain between Akiteru and his mother, tears welling up in his eyes immediately. 

_[Tsukishima Ayako]_   
_> Look at my favorite kiddo! My cutie is all grown up!_

_[Tsukishima Akiteru]_   
_> Mom you’re embarrassing meeeeee_   
_> And I’m your only “kiddo,” so I think I have to be your favorite!_

Kei wouldn’t let the tears fall, but his vision swam regardless. His own family had no idea who he was, his curse had made sure of that. Kei had known this since the beginning, but he couldn’t help getting caught off-guard by it every time, the realization that Akiteru was living such a happy life without him.

He swallowed thickly, and forced himself to scroll to the next post. Akiteru had uploaded an old picture of himself and the college club volleyball team he assistant coached a few years ago, captioning it only “#tbt.” Kei was about to scroll past, but stopped.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly with interest, and once he realized this subconscious reaction he blushed, embarrassed at his own interest.

Kei wasn’t one to be so easily captivated, but something about the man in the number 12 jersey had the tips of his ears burning. 

Before he could scold himself for being interested in some kid on a casual volleyball team that his brother used to coach, Kei found himself checking the tagged people on the picture and going immediately to the freckled boy’s account. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi, huh” he read to himself, skimming the man’s sparse bio. It looked like he had graduated from college the year before, and was a photographer. His profile picture showed a grinning Yamaguchi holding two pale yellow flowers up in front of his eyes, something that Kei would’ve laughed at for being dorky if it wasn’t so…cute.

He scrolled down, noticing that Yamaguchi didn’t seem to use Facebook much, and had very little personal information anywhere on the page. Most of his posts simply linked out to a blog, which Kei realized was probably where he posted his photography. 

Kei scrolled faster, a little needy in his search for a clearer picture of Yamaguchi. Finally, he found it. Posted over a year ago, the picture showed Yamaguchi failing to hide a laugh behind his hand as he pointed towards a sleeping brunet, the short-haired man in a deep sleep on a beach towel and sunburnt beyond belief. Yamaguchi must have been on a beach vacation, his skin’s dark tan a noticeable contrast with the sunburn his friend was sporting.

The closer shot gave Kei a better look at Yamaguchi’s freckles, out in full force due to the sun’s rays. The freckles were everywhere, splashed across his face and down his neck, and all over his shirtless chest. 

Kei’s gaze roamed across the man, finally landing on the persistent cowlick sticking up from the crown of Yamaguchi’s head despite all the salt water wetting his hair down. Just like that, Kei was infatuated.

Chiding himself about being creepy, Kei made himself close the picture and scroll away, back to the top of Yamaguchi’s profile. He clicked on the most recent link posted, taking himself to Yamaguchi’s photography blog.

He spent a minute scrolling through the blog, clicking through tags and paging through the massive amount of pieces Yamaguchi had uploaded. A minute turned into a few minutes, and Kei forced himself to sit back and rub his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Infatuation based on appearance was all well and good, but Kei couldn’t deny the admiration he had for Yamaguchi’s art.

His works showed humility despite the clear talent he had, and somehow Kei could just feel the goodness radiating from the photos. All of Yamaguchi’s work had so much passion and complexity, Kei felt like he was getting to know him more and more with each photo he studied.

Yamaguchi’s body of work showed his playful nature, his snarky captions often tongue in cheek and witty. Above all, Yamaguchi’s work showed a respect for capturing the human form, and his work with human subjects was captivating. Kei was drawn to Yamaguchi’s work with individual subjects, as every shot seemed to exude the personal connection held between photographer and model. 

As he paged through the photos, Kei couldn’t help thinking that he wished someone cared enough to photograph him with such clear respect and admiration. 

The website stalled for a moment as it refreshed, bringing Kei back to the top of the first page. Before he could express his annoyance at losing his place, Kei noticed the newest post that must have just been uploaded.

_Day 27_   
_Wish You Were Here_   
_Yamaguchi Tadashi—A Microcosm in 365 Days_

And just like that, Kei’s blush was back. At this point he couldn’t even muster up the energy to be embarrassed at his own spontaneous crush, so he resigned himself to let the infatuation run its natural course. 

By tomorrow, Kei figured, he wouldn’t even remember this guy’s name.

Before falling asleep, Kei made sure to bookmark Yamaguchi’s blog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All throughout my first plans for this story Tsukki was painfully alone for chapter upon chapter, seeing as that's literally how I designed his curse, but once I sat down to write it I caved so quickly. Thus, blind Bokuto appears!
> 
> Next chapter, Tsukki goes on an eye gouging spree (kidding)


	4. Days 30, 35, and 36

It had been one of those days where luck seems to run out completely, and Tadashi was struggling to keep up with every little mishap.

It started from the moment he woke up, comfortably stretching out his arms and yawning as he noticed the brightness in his room. Within seconds Tadashi realized it was uncharacteristically bright, and that his alarm typically went off when the sun was only beginning to rise over the horizon, not when it was comfortably shining in through the window above his bed as it was today. 

Kinoshita had been asleep soundly too, although that was nothing surprising; he was a night owl who typically slept in long past Tadashi. As Tadashi scrambled for his phone to check the time, he wished that just once Kinoshita had gotten up early and rattled around their shared room loudly enough to wake Tadashi from his slumber, but that was clearly not the case. 

Living in a big city it had been more financially responsible for Tadashi, Kinoshita, and Daichi to live together, and a two bedroom apartment was cramped but they had made it work. Tadashi and Kinoshita had met in college a few years prior, and had become fast friends due to the many interests they had in common. After being introduced to Daichi, one of Kinoshita’s friends from high school, the three soon decided to move in together to reduce some of the economic strain that New York City’s housing system inevitably imposed on three men in their twenties.

They all got along well, and living together had never been much of an issue, aside from the standard squabbles over bathroom cleaning duties or who was responsible for taking out the trash. Tadashi and Kinoshita had vastly different sleep schedules, but they made it work. 

This morning, however, it was clear that Tadashi’s past few weeks of picking up extra shifts at work and squeezing photography freelancing into every spare moment had caught up with him, and he had slept soundly past his alarm. Tadashi shot out of bed, sending his excessive amount of blankets and pillows flying as he rushed to get dressed and get ready for work.

He was opening today, and had barely half an hour to get dressed, eat something, and get all the way downtown. It was an impossible feat but Tadashi still tried, brushing his teeth with one hand while he ran a comb through his hair with the other, leading to a bit of toothpaste dribbling down onto his uniform shirt and hairs sticking up at all sorts of strange angles. Tadashi was too frazzled to really care, shoving his feet into his shoes without first untying the laces as he started making a cup of coffee, something that even running late he couldn’t afford to go without.

Tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder, Tadashi heard the line ringing as he poured his coffee and got ready to bolt out the door. 

“Takeda, hi yeah it’s me Yamaguchi. Hey I’m so so so sorry but I slept through my alarm and I’m running late, but I’ll be there as soon as I can!” His voice quivered as he spoke, feeling absolutely mortified to be letting his manager down. Tadashi rarely called in sick or ran late, he was always too nervous to be anything but an exemplary employee, even with a boss as understanding as Takeda.

True to form, Takeda ended the call with a simple, “Don’t worry about it Yamaguchi, just get here when you can. I’ll let everyone else here know, and we can pick up any slack in the meantime.”

Tadashi’s relief at his manager’s understanding was short-lived, and by the time he made it to his subway stop he had managed to spill his coffee all over his uniform, trip over his shoelaces that had decided to untie themselves, and get sprayed with water of questionable cleanliness as a cab sped through a puddle next to him. 

The subway ride was thankfully unexciting, and Tadashi took the time to catch his breath as he shrunk into the cold metal of the seat. He had forgotten his headphones in his haste, so all he could do was sit and watch the tunnel lights flicker past and listen to the background murmurings of the few other passengers nearby.

Jiggling his leg up and down nervously, Tadashi nearly jumped out of his seat when he finally reached the Times Square stop, the strain of his morning having already wound him tightly.

Tadashi finally made it to work, and when he backed himself into the bathroom before facing his coworkers he flinched at the man staring back at him. He looked exactly how he felt: completely disorganized and unprepared for the day ahead, even if it should’ve been no different from a regular Friday. 

He took a few minutes to make himself a bit more presentable, figuring that Takeda would be more annoyed with a waiter who looked like he had a hobby of spilling things on himself than with a waiter who was another ten minutes late. After deciding that he looked as presentable as he was going to without access to a shower and a change of clothes, Tadashi sighed and left the bathroom.

Enduring the snide comments from his coworkers, Tadashi tried his hardest to make it through the rest of his shift without further incident, and could only sigh with defeat each time he ran into a closing door face-first or nearly spilled beer all over a customer’s lap.

Finally, after a few hours of small mishap after small mishap, Tadashi stole a few minutes during a lull in the dinner rush to take a much-needed break. Stepping out onto the balcony he took a deep breath, the city air actually feeling fresh and cool compared to the stuffy interior of the loud restaurant. 

None of his coworkers were out on the balcony, but for once Tadashi didn’t mind being alone on break. After all his bad luck that day he was relieved to be momentarily free from Suga’s snark and the boundless energy of Kageyama and Hinata, to name only a few coworkers who would’ve made the short half hour considerably less peaceful. 

Remembering what he was out on the balcony to do in the first place, Tadashi opened up his backpack that he had retrieved from the break room, assembling his camera methodically. Lining up his shot with practiced ease, Tadashi took today’s photograph of the bustling square, pleased at the beauty of the sunset reflecting off the windows of the many skyscrapers lining the street.

Tadashi returned his camera to his bag, and headed back inside the restaurant to get dinner from Ukai before he needed to get back to work. He ate quickly, and was soon readjusting the collar of his shirt and combing his fingers through his hair in the bathroom before stepping out to return to his tables.

“What were you doing out there?” A quiet and smooth voice asked, snapping Tadashi back to the present moment.

“Hm?” He murmured, looking up from the glass of water he was refilling to meet the gaze of the woman who had asked such a vague question. She directed her glance behind him and out through the window, towards the balcony, and Tadashi realized that she must have seen him on break a few moments prior.

“Oh, that!” He remarked with a smile, slipping back into his customer-service voice now that he understood what the dark-haired woman was asking him. “I was taking a picture of the square. When I’m not waiting tables here I work as a photographer, and I can capture some really stunning shots off our balcony, it’s really such an incredible view.”

Catching himself before he made it sound like he was a little too interested in photography, and not nearly interested enough in the job he was working at that exact second, Tadashi snapped his mouth shut and returned to the glass of water he had yet to finish refilling. The woman sitting before him was quite beautiful, he realized, and as she fiddled with her glasses he felt as though he recognized her from somewhere. 

“I see. A hobby, or are you working towards a career?” She asked, her dark, penetrating gaze returning to meet his eyes.

Deciding that entertaining a paying customer’s questions was never a bad thing in terms of the tip he could later receive, Tadashi answered truthfully. “A career, at least if I can manage it.” He smiled again at her, adding “I graduated with a degree in Photography and Imaging last year and planned on working full-time as a photographer, but of course that kind of success would hurt my image as a starving artist in New York City, wouldn’t it?”

She chuckled a bit at that, her lips curling up into a barely-there smile. Satisfied that he was able to make her drop her poker face, Tadashi returned the smile.

Stepping back from the table in order to leave the woman to her meal, Tadashi noticed for the first time that she was sitting alone. For a place as rowdy as the Hard Rock Café, a regular tourist destination for families and gaggles of young people, it was a rare sight to see anyone enjoying a quiet dinner. 

As though she read his mind, the woman opened her mouth to speak again, her gaze still trained on him. “If you could wait a moment, Yamaguchi, there’s actually something I wanted to ask you about.”

He paused, a little surprised to be addressed by name. Tadashi wore a nametag of course, just like every other server, but customers rarely took note. Stepping back towards her, Tadashi nodded for her to continue.

“A couple of weeks ago you took a photo off that balcony out there, and I wanted to talk to you about it.” Her tone calm and serious, Tadashi felt his palms begin to sweat. He got nervous all the time, and clammy hands were nothing new to him, but he still felt the anxiousness of the woman’s words settle into the pit of his stomach. Again, all he could do was nod.

The woman did something he didn’t expect, then. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew her phone, clicking it on and sliding it towards him. She gestured to it, indicating to Tadashi that she wanted him to lean in and look at whatever she wanted to show him. 

He did so, tilting his head to look at her phone’s lock screen. He realized then, why he found the woman vaguely familiar. The photograph occupying her lock screen was zoomed-in from the original, but still entirely recognizable to Tadashi, seeing as he had been the one behind the camera when the picture had been taken.

“Day 16, Twin Stars” she recited, and Tadashi realized his prior misinterpretation of her attitude as he heard the fondness in her words. The dark-haired woman continued before he could say anything. “She and I don’t get to see each other often since she’s attending college in another state, but just for this one weekend she made the trip here to visit me. I hadn’t felt that happy in months, and you managed to capture it in a photo.”

Her phone screen going dark from lack of use, the woman returned her gaze to meet Tadashi’s. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

Tadashi blushed, then. He felt his heart swell, proud that his work had been appreciated, and pleased that he had been able to give this stranger such a gift. Realizing that he had been lost in his own thoughts and that the woman was looking up at him expectantly, Tadashi smiled and blurted out, “I could tell you two were in love! I just had to name the photo after you two. I’m so happy you like it!”

The woman chuckled again at his stammering, and reached out a hand to shake Tadashi’s. He set the water pitcher he was holding down onto the table, and took her hand, shaking it firmly, despite the nervousness he had felt throughout much of their interaction. 

“Shimizu Kiyoko. I’m glad to be making your acquaintance.” The woman—Shimizu—said, and Tadashi returned the introduction. “Yamaguchi Tadashi, although I guess you might already know that!” He blushed.

She smiled gently at his embarrassment, and her next words and the action that accompanied them surprised him more than anything else she had said thus far. “A friend of mine went to college with you, and when he came across the photo on your blog he sent it my way. From what I could see, and what you’ve told me, you haven’t been getting much recognition for your work. I think that’s a shame, and I’d like to help if at all possible.” While speaking she had reached back into her purse, this time pulling out a sleek black business card and handing it to Tadashi.

He looked down at the card in his hand, and spoke before he could catch himself. “You work for the New York Times? Like THE New York Times?!” Having a hard time containing his excitement at this turn of events, Tadashi grinned.

“I’m a staff writer. I don’t normally cover the arts, but I was hoping to make an exception in this case. If you’re interested in speaking with me more about your work, please call me.” She spoke smoothly, and Tadashi was impressed that she maintained her serious and composed nature despite his clear excitement.

Trying to coerce his expression back into something more professional, Tadashi still couldn’t completely control his tone of voice, squeaking out a response. “I’ll be sure to do that, Shimizu! Thank you for this opportunity!”

“The pleasure is all mine, and please, call me Kiyoko. Have a good evening, Yamaguchi. I look forward to hearing from you.” He nodded and smiled in response, returning her goodbyes as he picked the water pitcher back up and turned back to head towards the kitchen, slipping the business card into his pocket.

Tadashi continued through the rest of his shift on a high, still thinking about the opportunities he saw opening up before him.

**

Finally walking back through the doorway to his apartment, in considerably less of a hurry than how he had left in the morning, Tadashi let out a sigh of relief. He greeted Kinoshita in the living room with a wave, and made a beeline for their room to peel off his work uniform.

Tadashi took a long shower, letting the steam release the tension in his muscles that had been building up all day long. After stepping out of the bathroom, feeling clean and refreshed for the first time all day, Tadashi opened up his laptop to tackle the piles of photos that needed editing.

He let the familiar motions of editing soothe the stress of the day, and he felt himself go on auto pilot. Finally pausing to look up at the clock, Tadashi realized it was getting late and he had yet to upload today’s photo for his 365 project.

He opened the photo he had taken that evening, touching up small flaws here and there, emphasizing the natural beauty of the sunset permeating the cityscape. After a few minutes he was content with his progress, and his eyes landed promptly on the figure he had already chosen as the subject for this photo’s title. 

Standing relatively far away from the camera’s lens, Tadashi had noticed the solitary figure immediately despite his ambiguous clothing. Something about the man’s presence drew Tadashi in, and he found himself interested in this mysterious blond. He was tall, and dressed relatively plainly: something that looked like a black sweatshirt and black ripped jeans, but these facts alone weren’t all that interested Tadashi.

What caught Tadashi’s attention was the near-imperceptible motions of the man, who was otherwise standing perfectly straight and upright. The blond had an instrument, maybe a violin, nestled under his chin, but had paused while playing. In the photo Tadashi saw the man’s hand covering his face, and Tadashi realized he had caught on film the instant where the blond had paused to push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. The small gesture was so endearing to Tadashi, and he felt a spontaneous urge to hear exactly what song the man had been playing when he felt the need to pause and gently correct his external appearance before continuing.

Thinking for a moment, Tadashi landed on the caption for the sunset shot, waxing a bit poetic even by his own romantic standards.

_Day 30_   
_It Is to Your Tune Alone That the Sun Sets and the Moon May Rise, and I Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way_   
_Yamaguchi Tadashi—A Microcosm in 365 Days_

Before falling asleep that night, Tadashi decided it hadn’t really been such a bad day, in all the ways it truly mattered.

**

Tadashi tripped over his own feet as he tried to kick his shoes off, an action that wasn’t all that unusual for him, but was all the more common on nights like these were he had had a few drinks before coming home. It had been Takeda and Ukai’s wedding anniversary that day, so after closing for the evening the whole staff had hung around for another couple of hours to celebrate.

Tadashi had always been a lightweight, and today had been no different. He had only had a few beers, grimacing at the taste as always, but he still saw his apartment starting to spin as he wobbled down the hallway to his bathroom. Splashing water on his face as a substitute for an actual shower and full skincare routine, Tadashi stumbled into his room and slumped towards his bed, ready to crash and sleep in on his day off.

Moving to push the covers aside, Tadashi’s hand caught on the laptop he had discarded on his bed before leaving for his shift at work earlier in the day. He groaned with annoyance, but caught himself before making too much noise as he heard Kinoshita shift in his sleep, thinking to himself about how tonight Kinoshita seemed to be the more responsible of the two. Tadashi had groaned due to the realization that he hadn’t posted the day’s picture yet, and a night of drinking wasn’t nearly a good enough excuse to warrant messing up on a project that he was so optimistic about.

Tadashi stood up and retrieved the backpack he had left in the hallway, taking out his camera as he had done every night for the past month. He opened up Photoshop and began to work on the image, forcing himself to focus just for the next few minutes. 

He had gotten familiar with all the motions involved in this project: bringing his camera to work, creeping out to the balcony at some point during every shift (and creeping even more on the days he had off, even though both Ukai and Takeda reassured him that they didn’t mind as long as he didn’t bother customers), taking a quick shot from the same viewpoint each time, and then going home every night to edit and upload. In the last few days, another action had tacked itself on to this list of steps, and Tadashi had found it all too easy to acclimate to this one as well.

Just like he had for the past few days, Tadashi finished up his edits and immediately sought out the tall figure that he knew would be there somewhere. He laughed to himself then, as he realized this had turned into some strange version of Where’s Waldo, but before he could let his tipsy brain get carried away with the joke he finally noticed the object of his attention. 

Just like he had for the past few days, the blond was there in the square, standing alone and playing his instrument. And just like Tadashi had for the past few days, he zeroed in and immediately tried to come up with a title for today’s photo. 

After what felt like a long time, but had probably only been a few seconds of thinking and coming up blank, Tadashi grunted with annoyance and decided conclusively that he had exhausted his poetic captions about the blond over the past few days, and that neither tact nor subtlety was available to him at the present moment.

Tapping out day 35’s title with confident, if a little sloppy, keystrokes, Tadashi uploaded the newest photo to his blog, closed his laptop, and promptly fell asleep on top of his covers still fully clothed.

_Day 35_   
_Play Me a Song on Your Violin Sometime?_   
_Yamaguchi Tadashi—A Microcosm in 365 Days_

**

It had been a long day, but a fulfilling one. Tadashi had started the day by answering Kiyoko’s offer to give her a call, and the two had scheduled a time to meet for coffee and formally discuss his photography, with the implied end result of getting a New York Times piece written about him and his work.

In addition to this successful call, Tadashi had spent much of his day helping out a former professor of his by presenting to lecture halls filled with university students. While he had been cripplingly nervous at first to lead a class full of competent photographers only a year or two younger than himself, he had quickly found his rhythm and settled into the role as though he was born for it. Tadashi had previously considered taking up teaching photography techniques at a high school or university level, and his enjoyment of today’s experience reminded him to think more seriously about the idea of professorship. 

Tadashi had been happy to guest lecture for the day, and had taken the opportunity to catch up with his favorite professor over lunch and talk seriously about the path his career had been taking (or, more accurately, the path his career had _not_ been taking). The conversation had been realistic but encouraging, and Tadashi had left the university’s building with a new spring in his step and some new things to think about.

He had stopped by the Hard Rock Café after eating lunch, and had made small talk with Suga out on the balcony while he took the day’s picture.

“Not much of a lunch rush today.” Tadashi had noted idly, fiddling with the exposures of his camera to adjust to the daylight. Suga had said something in agreement, but Tadashi hadn’t paid him much mind. Instead, he fished his phone out of his back pocket and opened up his messages.

He typed out a quick message to Daichi, pressing send before he looked back up to his camera and finished taking the picture. Tadashi stood back up, packing his equipment away into his bag, as he read Daichi’s prompt response.

“When are you eating lunch, Suga?” He asked, having already noted the bento box Suga held loosely in one hand while smoking with the other.

“As soon as I finish this cigarette. Why, are you joining?

Tadashi shook his head. “Sorry, just ate before I came. But maybe you shouldn’t eat just yet, seeing as Daichi’s on his way here for his lunch break.” He grinned then, as he watched an involuntary flush spread across Suga’s cheeks.

Before Suga could say anything else, Tadashi slung his backpack over his shoulders and made to leave, calling his goodbyes over his shoulder and clutching his stomach dramatically. “He’ll be sad that I got such sudden food poisoning only minutes after inviting him to eat lunch with me! Maybe you should keep him company instead.”

He felt more than saw Suga’s blush deepening, as he had already turned his back again and was on his way out of the restaurant. Something like a self-satisfied smirk had spread across Tadashi’s face, and it persisted well into his afternoon filled with more guest lecturing.

Thinking back on the exchange now that he was back in the comfort of his apartment, Tadashi once again pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Daichi another text, apologizing again for skipping out on lunch so suddenly. His text to Suga was less apologetic, and much more curious about how the forced date had gone.

Setting his phone aside, Tadashi turned back to his laptop and resumed the editing that he had been working on for the last couple of hours to round out the day. He closed the tabs he was currently working on, and opened up the day’s shot of Times Square.

He laughed then, a sudden laugh of surprise that echoed loudly in his quiet apartment, as both Daichi and Kinoshita were yet to come home for the night. Standing in his usual spot, the tall blond was still wearing the usual clothes and playing his instrument, although none of this was what had surprised Tadashi. 

At the feet of the tall figure rested a cardboard sign with a simple phrase scrawled on it, which read:

_It’s not a violin it’s a viola, you idiot._

Tadashi laughed again as he zoomed in for a better view, remembering how he had explicitly called the blond’s instrument a _violin_ the night before, and was now so obviously being slapped on the wrists for it.

He rushed through the edits for this picture, still chuckling over the brashness of this tall stranger that had been the focus of his captions for nearly the past week. Uploading the photo to his blog, Tadashi wasted no time with his reply to the blond, and he couldn’t help but feel like the whole exchange was a little flirtatious.

_Day 36_   
_Sorry, Stranger! *Viola_   
_Yamaguchi Tadashi—A Microcosm in 365 Days_

He returned to his other edits then, a smile still lingering from the interaction. Tadashi was busy adjusting the coloring of a particularly tricky shot when the realization that should have been obvious finally struck him like a ton of bricks.

There had been an _interaction_ , which therefore meant that the blond had _seen_ all the photos Tadashi had taken and had realized that every caption had been about him. He had read those titles, even the one from only the day before, and had bothered to give Tadashi a _response_.

Tadashi blushed furiously then, and his little infatuation with a cluster of pixels seemed all too real when he realized that the figure he had been posting sappy comments about for the last week had probably seen _everything_. He shut his laptop aggressively as though the reality of the blond would no longer exist if Tadashi pretended the pictures weren’t there, and dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment.

“Oh my God. He’s _seen_ my photos, and he knows I’m talking about him! He probably thinks I’m so lame.” Tadashi bemoaned his luck to an empty apartment, with only a half-dead houseplant to listen to his pitiful cries.

He reopened his laptop again then, tentatively, as though something would jump out of the screen and bite down on him if he wasn’t careful. Tadashi looked back at his blog, scrolling down as he tried to see the last week’s pictures from an outsider’s perspective. It didn’t seem obvious for a lot of the titles that he was referencing the tall blond, but obviously last night’s question had been direct enough that there was no ambiguity. And now, he had gone and posted a response! 

Tadashi felt his ears burn red hot, and he was relieved in that moment that he had been alone in the apartment this evening, as he didn’t think he could endure comments from his roommates about the subject of his photos actually talking back to him. He sighed, trying to accept his fate, and decided that he was done with editing for the day after enduring this scare. He closed his laptop lid again, a bit more gently this time, and tried to ignore thoughts of the blond and of their interaction.

Tadashi got ready for bed, mulling over the day’s events and revelations. He was hopeful about his upcoming interview with Kiyoko, and even aside from that interview’s promise Tadashi had noticed that his blog was steadily getting an increasing amount of traffic, which was certainly a good sign.

He hadn’t heard back from Daichi or Suga yet, but he hoped that their impromptu lunch had gone well. Tadashi idly wondered if his meddling in his friends’ relationships had somehow led to his total embarrassment at the hands of his viola-playing muse, but then decided that that couldn’t be right, as he deserved exclusively good karma for trying to set up Daichi and Suga.

As he tucked himself into bed and prepared himself for another long day of work tomorrow, Tadashi decided that either relationship-meddling karma didn’t exist at all, or getting noticed by the tall blond was actually good karma in disguise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realizing that smoking a cigarette before eating a meal is literally the opposite of what most people would do, but oh well if that's my worst plot hole I'll take it and chalk it up to not being a smoker myself, ergo a good thing.


End file.
